As Delicate As Lace
by detectiveholmeslovesjawn
Summary: Sherlock has a kink that he's been hiding from John. When the truth comes out, John wants to explore the new side of Sherlock he's never known.


Dust particles floated lazily around the sitting room in 221B. Over the past three hours, Sherlock had practically become one with the couch, sinking so low into the overstuffed cushions that John was worried that his flatmate was going to disappear entirely. Balanced gingerly on Sherlock's lap was his silver laptop. He'd been typing away furiously for quite some time, but recently stopped typing and was now engrossed in reading something. John glanced at him occasionally before returning his eyes to his own laptop. He'd been searching all day for cases online, but couldn't find any with the exception of a few small ones that wouldn't peak Sherlock's interest in a million years. John didn't like days like this, however relaxing they were, because it meant that his boyfriend would be more restless and unruly than usual. Today was strange though, Sherlock had barely moved off the couch and was weirdly calm.

John sighed and laid his head back against the chair. Sun poured through the windows and filled the room with a glowing afternoon light. He breathed in the familiar smell of the flat, a mix of dust, coffee, and faint traces of cigarette smoke. While the two men seemed to be frozen in time here, life continued outside on the streets of London. Cars bustled and people walked to and from work. Car horns honked and people walked by, enveloped in conversation. John, savoring the unusual silence in the flat, closed his eyes and tried to nap, only to be interrupted moments later by Sherlock's low voice filling the room.

"Did you know that some people find crossdressing enjoyable and arousing?" Sherlock casually mentioned, without looking away from his screen. John opened his eyes and furrowed his brow, thrown off guard by this strange comment.

"Crossdressing? As in-"

"Dressing in attire of the opposite sex, yes." Sherlock sounded unamused by John's question, so much in fact that he didn't let John finish his question.

"Well, yes. I know what it is, Sherlock. I just... Why are you even looking that up?" John peered towards Sherlock, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen, but Sherlock turned the computer away from John's line of vision. "Is that..." He squinted, still trying to look at the screen. "Is that porn?"

Sherlock looked at John in a disgusted manner. "Pornography? John, please. I wouldn't be looking at that in broad daylight, then talking about it. Grow up. I'm simply doing some research on something that has been holding my interest lately."

John sat up, propping himself on his elbow. "Has it been? Really?" John seemed curious.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Is that a problem for you? You said it's all fine..." He looked away.

"Oh, what- Yes, I did say that. And I still think that. It's all fine. So what is it that you're interested in? Lingerie?" Sherlock shrugged.

"I suppose that might be interesting." Sherlock mumbled nonchalantly.

"Wearing it or seeing someone in it?" John quizzed. He was now intrigued, and was trying to imagine fitting himself into lingerie to please Sherlock. He couldn't imagine it.

"I guess... Wearing it?" Sherlock's voice was quiet, as if he was ashamed.

"It's alright Sherlock, really. I'm not going to judge you. Remember? It's all fine? Whatever shakes your boat." John smiled, remembering their little inside joke about that phrase, before checking his watch and standing up. "We still have those dinner plans tonight, right?" Sherlock nodded, suddenly captivated by the computer screen again. "Well, it's five o'clock now, dinner in an hour. Might as well get ready." He made his way over to Sherlock, dipped down, and kissed him quickly. He smiled against Sherlock's mouth, then pulled back only an inch before whispering "It's all fine." And turning away, leaving to get ready.

On their way out the door, John turned to Sherlock. The taller man was wearing his usual outfit of a dress shirt, tucked into his exceedingly overpriced slacks and cloaked in his coat.

John smiled. "Come on, Sherlock, we're not going to a wedding, you don't need to be so damn formal all the time." He reached around Sherlock and pulled his shirt out from his trousers, so that it hung around his waist rather than clung to it. "Better." John smiled at his boyfriend, and they walked out the door. Out on the doorstep, Sherlock slipped the flat key into his pocket.

Dinner had been lovely. The restaurant they'd dined in, Le Nenuphar, was their favorite, and by far the most intimate and beautiful restaurant in London. The tables were small and illuminated solely by small candles, shimmering and providing a warm glow to eat around. They'd laughed and joked, poking fun of Lestrade a little here, mocking Mycroft a bit there. They'd purchased and slowly downed several expensive glasses of glittering, pink champagne, and snacked on fragile, delicate noodles that were topped with the most delicious of sauces. Sherlock didn't normally eat much, but had no problem eating this exquisite treat. As they walked out of the restaurant, John's arm around Sherlock's waist, he turned to nod at the owner of the restaurant. The owner, Clement, a round man with an even rounder face, replied with a cheerful smile and wink.

Their walk home was pleasant, as their walks usually were. Normally they would have taken a cab, but John had decided that a walk would be better. Warm air filled the streets, and above them, a crystal clear sky stretched out for miles, freckled with diamond stars. Constellations webbed together to create shining shapes above. Sherlock and John walked home, tightly squeezed together, hand in hand. When they finally reached their doorstep, John wrapped his tall detective in his arms and pulled him down for a sweet kiss. Sherlock smiled against his boyfriend's lips and John laughed quietly. Moments like this were pure bliss. Seconds blurred into minutes, and after pulling away from John with a soft smile, Sherlock turned his attention to searching his pocket for the flat key. He pulled the brass key out of his deep coat pocket and the moonlight reflected off of it, glimmering in his hand. He looked down at John and smiled, stooping down to kiss him gently on the lips. John's hand crept around his back, pulling him closer. They smiled against each others lips and quietly giggled, acting like love struck teens. Sherlock pulled away to open the door, and the small key clattered out of his hand onto the ground.

"Shit." He laughed and leaned down to pick up the key, and that's when John saw it- A small glimpse of something pink hiding under Sherlock's shirt, which had ridden up a bit on his back while bending down. John's eyebrow raised, and when Sherlock stood up to open the door, John stepped in front of the door so that Sherlock couldn't reach the door handle.

"What is that?" John smirked.

Sherlock pretended to look confused, but he knew what John was referring to. "What? I don't know what you're talking about!"

John reached out to Sherlock, placed his hand on his stomach, and slowly slid it around to the back of Sherlock's trousers. The taller man's heart raced, partially from embarrassment, but mostly from the arousal of being caught. John's hand slipped into the back of the slacks, and instantly a sly grin appeared on his face. Delicate lace, thin and frilly, rubbed against his calloused fingers. He looked up at Sherlock with a satisfied look, then removed his hands.

"John..." Sherlock's face softened.

"That's what I thought." Noticing Sherlock's expression, he placed his hand up on Sherlock's smooth face. "It's all fine."

"Yes, I know... Come on, John." He smiled, and John noticed that Sherlock's eyes were darker than usual, a clear sign of arousal. Sherlock unlocked the door and the two slipped into the flat.

As soon as they made it upstairs, John had Sherlock pinned against the wall, but instead of sloppily and frantically making out like Sherlock had expected, their kisses were slow and sweet. Their lips touched in slow movements, taking each other in and getting drunk off of the taste of each other. John stepped back away from Sherlock to look at him. His lips were red and wet from all the attention they were getting. His eyes were half closed, and a lazy smile accompanied them. It took all of John's willpower not to lead him over to the couch, tear his clothes off and take him. Instead, he hung his coat on the coat rack near the door and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm going to have a quick shower, then I'll come to bed. Stay in those clothes if you don't mind?" He smiled.

"Of course." Sherlock smiled back, hung his overly large coat up next to John's, and wandered down the hall to his room. The army doctor sighed and followed Sherlock down the hall, turning to the bathroom.

John showered quickly, washing his hair and body as fast as he could so that he could begin the next chapter of his evening. He was aching for a quick wank, but resisted, keeping in mind what was sure to come. He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and nearly tripped over a miscellaneous pair of shoes that Sherlock had discarded by the tub and had not bothered to pick up. Remembering Sherlock's sensitive skin, he shaved his face and leaped back into a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt he'd left in the bathroom this morning. He left the bathroom and then, standing outside Sherlock's bedroom door, he took a deep breath in, and entered the room.

Sherlock sat on the right side of the bed, propped up on some pillows, laptop next to him. He was still wearing his black slacks and that white button up shirt, which he'd unbuttoned slightly at the neck. He'd kicked his shoes off and his socked feet crossed over each other. The screen illuminated his face, but as soon as he saw John, he closed the lid of the computer and sat it on the floor next to the bed. He looked John from head to toe.

"John, I-"

"Shut up. Don't try to excuse your way out of it, I told you it's all fine, and quite admittedly, I'm very curious to see how they look on you." John smiled and got into bed, crawling over to Sherlock and putting one leg on each side of his boyfriend, leaning forward to kiss him tenderly. He sat on Sherlock's hips and continued to kiss him, familiar feelings of desire and lust surging inside him. His tongue parted Sherlock's lips and slipped into his mouth. His tongue met Sherlock's and he used that to his advantage, finding the exact spot that Sherlock loved and running his tongue down the center of it. John's desire increased when Sherlock moaned from the contact. His hands descended from Sherlock's neck down to the dress shirt, and started unbuttoning it. With each button undone, the fabric fell away from his body a little more, exposing his bare chest. John ran his hands over his body, rubbing his thumbs over the detective's nipples briefly before moving on to the very last buttons of the shirt. Sherlock pulled his arms out from the shirt and it fell behind him onto the pillow.

"It seems illogical for you to have gotten dressed after your shower," Sherlock said in between kisses, "if we're just going to be taking them off again."

"Yeah, but isn't that part fun? Besides, I'm not the one wearing lingerie. I think my main focus is to be undressing you." John moved his body back off of Sherlock's hips so he could access the zipper of the detective's trousers. He undid the shining silver button and slid the zipper down slowly, revealing a rosy pink pair of panties. He licked his lips upon resting his eyes on them. For being designed for women, they fit Sherlock shockingly well. Even though they were quite a bit tighter in the front, they highlighted Sherlock's crotch wonderfully. A small line of light hair disappeared from Sherlock's navel into them. The lace was intricately sewn to have a floral pattern, and a tiny black bow was stitched to the very center of the top of the elastic band.

"Jesus, Sherlock." John breathed. He ran his hands down the fragile lace, trying to memorize the texture. "So. Why pink? Why these?" His eyes wandered up to Sherlock's face. He'd had his eyes closed and he was leaning his head back, relishing in the feel of John's strong hands on him. He opened his eyes and with the flick of his wrist, replied.

"Come on John. Could you be more daft? Look at how these look on me, plus it's not a lie that they feel amazing. The thin fabric stretched over my skin, gently fluttering against me when I move..." He quietly moaned as John started moving his thumb over Sherlock's half hard cock, through the panties.

"You self absorbed bastard." John smiled as he moved up on Sherlock, aligning their bodies. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's and slowly leaned his hips forward, then back, rocking rhythmically. Sherlock gasped quietly and groaned into his mouth, the friction and steady rocking forcing his cock to harden in no time at all. John began to move down, kissing and sucking at Sherlock's neck. He knew that this was one of Sherlock's favorite things, and that it would probably be easy for the detective to get off on this, but that wasn't the route he wanted to take. Quite clearly he wanted to drag things out for as long as possible. He continued to grind on Sherlock while nibbling at his throat and sucking a red spot onto the middle of his neck. The groan he was rewarded with for that sent a shock wave of pleasure down his spine and straight to his cock, which was still heavily pressing against the inside of his pants. Each time he leaned forward, the friction increased by a small amount, but it was causing him to need more. Tucking one hand into his pajama bottoms and pants, he wrapped his right hand around his erection and rubbed the length of it a few times, still thrusting his weight forward on Sherlock's crotch. His hand increased the sensation of the grinding, which made John throw his head back and moan in sheer pleasure.

"Jesusss Chrisst." John hissed through gritted teeth as Sherlock writhed beneath him and groaned uncontrollably. The feeling of the panties was new to them both, so rough yet so smooth all at once. It was driving Sherlock crazy with need. A small wet patch had formed on the front of the pink panties, and when that patch soaked through enough for John to notice it, he touched it gently with his thumb. "Oh, Sherlock... Fuck." His hand slipped under the delicate fabric and met immediately with Sherlock's stiff cock. He wrapped his hand around the base and painfully slowly dragged it up until it reached the very tip. He applied the smallest amount more pressure on it, and Sherlock whined hopelessly with desire. John let his hand travel downwards even more, stopping momentarily to tease Sherlock's balls. The detective's eyes fell closed from the contact before John moved further down to find the real pleasure point. As soon as John's pointer finger brushed the tight muscle group, Sherlock let out a gasp that grew quickly into a moan. John smirked and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock again, passionately and roughly. As they kissed, John massaged Sherlock's entrance without inserting his finger. He knew very well that, in a hurried attempt to clean themselves up with Mycroft waiting on the other side of the door last week, they'd thrown the bottle of lubricant from their nest of blankets on the couch into the kitchen. In this moment, John didn't move from his position on Sherlock's hips until Sherlock had desperately begun to push back up against John's hand to try to get better friction. The detective was beginning to get frustrated because the more attention his sensitive bottom got, the more it needed.

John groaned in frustration.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath. Drawing his fingers back caused a displeased reaction from Sherlock. "Sorry, I'd forgotten to grab the lube from the sitting area when we came in, and-"

"Well don't just sit there moaning about it, go get it!" Sherlock interrupted. John sighed, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock on the nose before getting out of bed. Even though he was still in his pajama bottoms, he felt exposed with his erection peeking out from the elastic of his pants. He tucked it back in quickly, fighting back a muffled sound of surprise and pleasure from the brief contact.

John's frustration grew more and more with each minute he spent looking for the lube, with no success. He bent down to search under chairs, between cushions, and under the kitchen table. Where was that damn bottle? After several unproductive and profanity filled moments, he decided to head back to the bedroom to see if Sherlock had moved it without realizing it, or worse, Mrs. Hudson had found it during one of her spontaneous cleaning sessions.

What John saw when he entered the bedroom was not what he'd thought he'd see. He inhaled sharply in surprise when he'd fully taken in the scene. Sherlock was laying on his stomach, bum in the air, rutting his groin into the mattress. His pink panties were still on, and the rigid fabric of them was rubbing against Sherlock in such a way that he'd given up any remaining decency and was moaning like a wanton animal. But what had really caught John's attention more than anything was the fact that Sherlock had his pointer finger and middle finger deeply buried inside himself, and was moving them slowly, nearly purring from the sensation. Next to the detective was the pale, blue bottle of lube. John sighed, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. When Sherlock realized that he was no longer alone, he removed his fingers and rolled onto his side, facing John and eying his aching erection.

"No luck finding it, then?" Sherlock inquired slyly. John stepped over to the bed and grabbed the bottle off the bed. Without a word, he coated his pointer and middle finger in the slippery substance, and without warning, pushed the delicate panties aside and slipped his fingers into Sherlock. The detective gasped and pushed back against John's strong hand, groaning in bliss. "God!" He exclaimed through gritted teeth. John climbed into bed, withdrew his fingers from Sherlock (Which inspired a frustrated grumble from the detective). John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's abdomen and rolled over, taking Sherlock with him and landing the taller man on top of him. Sherlock leaned down to kiss John, cupping his face in his long, slim fingers, while at the same time starting to rock gently against John's groin. John turned on his side to grab the abandoned bottle of lube and poured a generous amount onto his hand. The gel was cold but warmed quickly as he reached between the two of them to lubricate his cock. After a few long pulls on his prick, he looked up at Sherlock, who was already inching forward. He shifted his weight up onto his knees and painfully slowly slipped his hands into the waist band of the panties, sliding them off so meticulously that just seeing them sliding over his creamy skin drove John wild. He grinned seductively at the army doctor as he worked the panties off, placing them tenderly on the bed next to him.

John, who was lazily running his thumb over the head of his cock, cleared his throat.

"Are you ready, love?" He propped up on his elbows and looked his boyfriend in the eye.

"Obviously, John. It's not like we haven't done this before. I-" He interrupted his own sentence with a sharp intake of breath as John shifted his weight and breached the tip of his cock into Sherlock. The stretching burn of Sherlock's entrance made his breathing uneven. Each time they did this, memories came flooding back with the sensation- Memories of the first time they'd had sex. Memories of the time they had gone to visit Mummy and Daddy Holmes and made love in Sherlock's childhood bedroom. Memories of frantic sex and slow, passionate sex. Memories that, no matter what happened in his life, Sherlock would never delete, but rather store away in the safest safe in his entire mind palace.

Sherlock's sigh of contentment was John's signal to push in further, slowly, until he was fully enveloped in Sherlock. He stilled for a moment, looking up at his love.

"Thank you for dinner tonight, Sherlock. I enjoy those dates with you immensely." Sherlock leaned over to delicately kiss John. When Sherlock sat back up, he smirked at John.

"So," He began coolly, as if making everyday conversation, "You liked my panties?" He began to gently bounce on John, suppressing a moan. His wispy curls bounced with him, tickling his forehead. John groaned deeply from his chest. "I'm going to take that as a yes, due to your lack of response. I thought you might like them anyway. I do, the way they caress me so gently, the way they feel when I walk about crime scenes, no one knowing about them except me. Not Lestrade, not Sally..." He locked eyes with John, who was thrusting up into Sherlock now. "And not you. Not you, ever, until tonight. You had no idea I was wearing the delicate, lacy panties, made to fit a lady."

"Godddd..." John moaned loudly, thrusting harder than he had been before, and making Sherlock gasp. He let his head fall back and his mouth fall open slightly, a solid and continuous moan leaking from his lips.

"So... Do you- ah- have more of them? The panties, I mean. Are there more you march around in?" John mentally begged Sherlock to say yes.

Sherlock hissed in ecstasy as John brushed temporarily against his prostate. _Fuck. _"There may be..." He nearly panted. "I've a pair of black ones. Fine black lace, partially see through, low cut, of course. They nestle everything together so perfectly and I- ugh- wore them to Christmas dinner last year. Of course I- hmmm- had to get up half way through dinner to have a wank in the bathroom, the feeling of them rubbing against my half hard cock during supper, along with the fact that no one knew, was too much for me to handle." He wrapped his own left hand around his cock and stroked the length of it thoughtfully, remembering. "I got into the bathroom, locked the door, and immediately pulled my trousers off..." He leaned forward onto John's belly, his way of suggesting a change in positions. They gently rolled over so that John was hovering over Sherlock, inches away from his face. He began to push back into Sherlock again, finding his rhythm and moaning like an animal. He closed his eyes.

"Tell me, Sherlock. Finish your story." He growled, sending a shiver up the detective's spine.

"So, I discarded my trousers and took myself in hand, never taking the panties off. I wanked with them on, and fuck, was that good." He grabbed the pink pants laying next to him and wrapped them around his cock, stroking again and gasping loudly. John nearly lost it at that sight, but regained himself and continued fucking into his lover. "I slumped over onto the floor, back against the cabinet, and touched myself through the pants, whispering your name; John... John... Oh god, John... Until I came in my pants like a teenager, like I used to in that very bathroom growing up." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unable to continue his tale from the overload of pleasure growing rapidly in his groin and lower back.

John breathed heavily as he pushed harder into Sherlock, hitting his prostate repeatedly as Sherlock moaned wantonly, rapidly fucking the pair of pants wrapped around his hand. "Jesus... Christ, Sherlock. I can't believe... Ah... Ah..." Sherlock wriggled under him, chanting his name, each time going up in pitch- A sign that he was close.

"John, fuck, oh..." He panted. John could feel Sherlock's body beginning to clench, and that feeling, along with the thoughts of Sherlock fucking himself during Christmas dinner, caused John to close his eyes and yell out.

"Sherlock!" He yelled as he came, thrusting as hard as he could into Sherlock, who was just starting to come. A mind blowing pulsation raided John's body, fulling him with ripples of unadulterated pleasure as he came into Sherlock. Come shot from Sherlock's prick as well, spilling out onto his belly, hand, and of course, his pink panties. He gasped and whimpered through an earth shattering orgasm that tore him apart and completed him all at once. Behind closed eyelids, stars danced and pulsating heat spread across his abdomen. He fought for breath after calming down enough to remember to breathe. John pulled out of him and rolled onto his side, wrapping his body around Sherlock like a koala bear clinging to their favorite Eucalyptus tree. He wove his fingers into Sherlock's damp hair and kissed his flushed cheek. "I'd like to see you wear those more often." He whispered, his lips still lingering on Sherlock's skin. The detective sighed and burrowed his face deep into the crook of John's neck, inhaling deeply and filling his nose with the scent of sex and aftershave and John. He smiled sweetly against his favorite doctor's neck.

"Obviously, John."


End file.
